


Moonlace

by kaientai



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Julius is a magic nerd, Marx is DONE with his shit, Mutual Pining, and reader just wants to grow plants in peace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25894465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaientai/pseuds/kaientai
Summary: On nights of the full moon, a peculiar man would amble by the garden in your balcony to say hello.(Oh, how you wish you’d heard is goodbye, too.)
Relationships: Julius Novachrono/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another moon-themed fic from me? Of course! 
> 
> Anyway, I've sort of been dragged by the ankles into Black Clover and now I can't stop thinking about it :| I said I've outgrown shounen, but that is definitely _not_ the case. Also, I tried scouring the relationship tag for some fics but ahh they are SO SCARCE what the heque. Took it upon myself to just write for this weirdo, myself *sigh*

The omnipresent hubbub of the marketplace rang in Marx’s ears like white noise. He was no stranger to the Common Realm, but he’d been forced into noble company for so long that he wondered if he could ever get used to the commotion. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, though. 

A kingdom free of discrimination—that was the dream his stubborn sire wished to attain. And if Marx was anything other than a straight-laced advisor, that was a loyal servant who catered to Julius’ wishes no matter how outlandish they may seem. 

But he had to admit, among the Wizard King’s many, _many_ absurd desires, this one in particular seemed the most…mundane out of the rest.

The town of Kikka was completely different from the royal capital. Out here, one’s status didn’t carry the usual gravity it would in the Noble Realm, and Marx had received the news with relief. Despite having donned his usual attire on the job, not a single person batted an eyelash his way. Apparently, that had something to do with the presence of a black market in the area. Commoners and a few select nobles were said to dabble in the illicit businesses thriving in the expertly hidden district, and today, Marx got to witness it for himself.

The advisor’s gaze darted to and fro in search of a particular store once he’d arrived at the said black market. Ever the obscure man he was, Julius had said Marx would spot it in no time. However, he’d been wandering the grimy back alleys for about half an hour now and there was _still_ no sign of an exotic flower shop anywhere. 

Marx scratched the back of his head, briefly wondering if he should contact Julius about the matter. But when his golden eyes flickered towards one of the corner pathways, he ultimately decided against it. 

A soft chime of bells graced his ears as he entered the only shop in the market that had an actual door; shortly followed by a kind greeting in welcome. The small enclosure was illuminated by the gentle glow of lanterns on the wall, while an array of plants he’s never seen lined the shelves to the side—nearly blinding him with their vibrant colors. Marx could tell that the flora had abnormal levels of mana residing within, but somehow, a certain force kept them from going on a rampage. That was odd. He’d never sensed such raw, primordial energy being emitted by plants, of all things.

When he kept his eyes forward, he saw a woman wearing the loveliest of smiles sitting behind the counter. In front of her, a lone flower with petals that shimmered like moonlight sat alone in a vase; one that looked eerily similar to the ornament in the Wizard King’s office. But despite the glaring similarity, another thing caught Marx's gaze—that being the silver ring strung with a cord around her neck. 

“Good morning,” the woman greeted him with a curt bow, eyes shining in a way that was meant to entrance. “I’m the Lunar Florist. How can I help you?”

…

You hastily wiped your face with your arm as you shut the door behind you—back sliding against the wooden surface until you were seated on the floor. Despite your best efforts to keep it together, though, hot tears continued to race down your cheeks. Your body was racked with subtle tremors accompanied by the sniffles that escaped you every now and again. You could only wonder how pathetic you must have looked. 

Today was supposed to be _great_ —the day you finally opened up shop in the marketplace. But instead of the warm welcome new merchants would usually receive, your debut had instead been shunned by the citizens of Kikka. 

_A foreigner’s merchandise could be tainted with malicious magic._

_Why is she even here? No one wants strangers in our town._

_Scary… What if the foreigner tries to kill us all?_

For years, you’d dreamt of travelling to the land beyond the seas. Clover Kingdom was said to be a place where magic was part of every person’s life—so unlike your homeland, where mages were persecuted as savages that abused magic in their lust for power. You thought if you could live somewhere with people just like yourself, you’d finally find a place to call home. 

But reality was far harsher than you could ever hope. 

You flinched when some of your tears dripped onto the burned skin of your hand. Though several hours had passed, the wound was yet to heal completely. Some cruel flame user had incinerated the plants you’d cultivated in this very house for months, and it turned out that it wasn’t below him to do the same damage to you—even if you did absolutely _nothing_ to warrant his hostility. What’s worse was that not a soul bothered to help nor voice out their concern as you retrieved what was left in the ashes.

Why? Why would they do this? Wasn’t everyone here a mage, just like you?

A soft mewl roused you from your haze of grief. Ignoring the stinging sensation in your hand, you got back to your feet with a sigh. Right. You’d left Figaro to fend for himself for the day. He must be starving. 

In spite of yourself, you trudged towards the cupboards in your kitchen—plucking a wooden box from the shelves before shaking its contents. Figaro would usually come running at the sound of his food being flaunted like this, but for some reason, he wasn't showing up. You could still hear him meowing upstairs, further prompting you to crease your brows. 

“What is the deal with that damn cat?” you grumbled, setting the box on your flimsy dining table as you made the trek to the second floor.

Your house was small, but it was enough for a single person and an elusive pet. Not only did the landlady not mind that you came from another country altogether, but the rent was more forgiving than what you’d expect for a humble, two-storey home. Another jackpot you’d scored from such a good deal was the balcony just right outside your bedroom. It gave you a nice scenery of the mountains nearby, as well as a view of the town. It also doubled as your own, personal garden. 

Figaro spent most of his time napping in the rose bushes and nibbling on the marigolds despite your countless attempts to house-break him. But then again, you’d been ready for the consequences of taking in a stray cat ever since you’d decided to move into Kikka with him. As the saying goes: you reap what you sow.

But when you flung open the door to the balcony—irritable remarks resting on your tongue—you froze in your tracks. 

“My, what a lovely garden you have here!” 

A man with eyes like violets in full bloom shot you a toothy grin as he leaned across the railing. In his arms was your traitorous cat, Figaro, purring as the stranger stroked his white fur. Despite there being a goddamned intruder in your home, your jaw dropped at the cat’s easygoing attitude. It took _weeks_ for him to warm up to you, yet—!

“I’m terribly sorry for letting myself in uninvited,” said the strange man with the strangest set of robes and adornments completing his ensemble. “I just happened to be passing by and noticed how full of life this home was. I’ve seen a handful of enhancement magic, but I could tell these plants were raised with love, as well.”

 _Or you’re just reading too much into it, creep_ , you thought disdainfully.

Even if you wanted nothing more than to scream for help, you began to doubt whether anyone would come to your aid. You believed your neighbors were kinder than those folk from the marketplace, but now you weren’t even sure anymore. The fact that Figaro was cozying up to this man threw your mind into a further disarray, too. He usually picked up on the first signs of danger, which helped you survive all these gruelling months of adjustment. So if Figaro didn’t feel the need to be aggressive around him, then… 

“Hm?” The stranger perked up, leaning down to let Figaro hop back on the ground. When he rose back to his full height, he stepped forward—causing your eyes to widen in surprise. Why was he drawing closer? Before you could react brashly, he took a hold of your wounded hand—bringing it closer to his face as he examined it with concern. 

“This is new,” he observed, swiping a calloused thumb across the surface. You jerked your hand away from the contact, cradling it to your chest as you slowly distanced yourself. The reaction seemed to disappoint him, a pout suddenly gracing his lips.

Sighing, the man carded his fingers through shaggy golden hair that seemed to turn silver under the spill of moonlight. “I can fix that for you, you know.”

“And _why_ should I trust someone who trespassed into my home?” you challenged. 

He blinked, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him until you pointed out, but his daze promptly morphed into a fit of raucous laughter—shoulders shaking with each breath he took. 

“You have a good point, but…” He trailed off, glancing down at the way Figaro curled his body around the man’s legs through the thick curtain of his robes. “Your companion seems to trust me plenty enough. So why don’t you just let me heal you?” 

In your head, you cursed Figaro for deciding to put his feline faith in someone so suspicious. But then again, you were a mage. Judging from the feel of his mana alone, you knew that he meant no harm, but you could also tell that he was a strong one, himself. Provoking the man would probably do you more bad than good and frankly, you've had enough of dealing with the endless hostilities of other mages.

With heavy reluctance, you held out your hand. 

A warm smile stretched across his face as he held it in his much larger hand—placing his other palm over the afflicted area. His deep purple gaze was trained on his handiwork, and the next thing you knew, the outline of a clock shimmered across your skin with a bright ivory glow. Your lips parted with muted surprise as your flesh began to mend itself before your eyes. 

“Is it feeling any better?” he asked with a peal of amusement.

When the light had vanished, you frantically checked the hand in question and—yup. The wound was gone. He made it look as if you’d never been burned in the first place. 

“How did you…?” You stared at him, bewildered, but the man merely laughed. That was when you noticed the odd blue star that marred the left side of his forehead. Just who _was_ this man?

“I’ll tell you about my magic if you tell me about yours,” he proposed, clapping his hands together as his eyes glimmered like rhinestones. “Do we have a deal?” 

You gaped at him in utter disbelief. He had magic of _that_ caliber yet he was curious about yours? However, Figaro caught your gaze as he hopped onto the shelf you’d placed on the walls, tail swishing across one of the potted plants that seemed to have wilted in your absence—

“Oh, no.” 

Gathering the skirts of your dress, you made haste in its direction. A frown tugged on your lips as your fingers grazed the browning leaves. You’d forgotten to take it inside for the day! What once were silver petals that glistened with the evening dew, had turned into a withered shell of its former self.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, taking the pot in your hands as you walked back to the center of the balcony. “I got too excited this morning that I forgot how bad the sun was for you.” 

The stranger, who was yet to introduce himself, watched from the sidelines as you lifted it up with one hand. You used the other to cast a spell over the dead flower—harnessing the pale moonlight with your fingers as its medium. When a familiar warmth began to prickle your fingertips, you closed your eyes before letting the moon breathe life into it once again. 

You didn’t need to see it to know that your spell had worked. The sound of its leaves growing anew and the petals regaining their ethereal color practically echoed in your mind. When you opened your eyes again, however, the man had already gotten closer than what you were comfortable with.

“That was amazing! Was that Lunar Magic? You resurrected a dead creature right before my eyes!” he gushed, prancing around you like a curious child. “Are you a healer? Can you do that with humans, too?” 

“U-Um…” you hesitated, conscious of the way his face was inches from yours. “My powers are only effective on plantlife.” 

He nodded vigorously, (thankfully) deciding to back up a little. “You said earlier that the sun was bad for it, though. Why is that? Don’t flowers thrive in the daylight?” 

“Not this one,” you replied, gazing fondly at its beautiful petals. “This flower is called moonlace. Like the name implies, it only grows under the moon.” 

This was one of the few things you’d taken with you from your homeland. It was a country with harsh opinions on magic and those who wielded it, but it was also a place for animals and plants with tremendous amounts of mana to thrive in. The irony of their existence was something you’d always treasured and you held onto the hope that you could one day return to cultivate them, yourself. 

“The world really is amazing, isn’t it?”

You peered at the stranger with one brow arched, wondering what brought it on. He reached for the flower in your hands and caressed its petals with the same tenderness you’d shown to all of your plants. When your eyes darted back to his side profile, the beginnings of a warm smile began to tease his lips. 

“Not only are there people blessed with all sorts of magic, but things like this actually exist as well,” he chuckled, and you almost stared for a moment too long at the wonder that shone in his eyes. “Ah, Marx really shouldn’t hinder me from making all these discoveries. There’s so much more I want to see!” 

“Well, you should have thought of that _before_ deciding to take on such heavy responsibilities.”

You yelped, stumbling back a little when a shimmer of white light materialized above your balcony. There, the image of a young man with pale blue hair hovered before the stranger’s face. From what you could see, he did _not_ look happy. 

“Marx, have you been watching me?” laughed the stranger. “I was just talking about you.”

“If you skip out on your paperwork one more time, I might just have Owen bind you to your office chair with his magic,” the man, Marx, spoke sharply—the threat sounding all too real with his tone. “Seriously, these excursions are getting out of hand! At least tell me in advance when you want to fool around. Where are you anyway?”

When you saw his exasperated gaze drift in your direction, you made yourself scarce—scooting closer to Figaro as your cat seemingly gloated over your demise. _Someone_ was getting their usual dinner fix cut in half tonight.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll be back in a few hours,” your intruder-turned-guest insisted, waving away the magical feed despite Marx’s protests. Once the light had vanished, the man turned to you with a sigh. 

“Sorry to cut our wonderful discussion short, but I’m afraid I have to go.” He flashed you another one of his kind smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll come by to tell you about the intricacies of my magic another time.” 

You grimaced. “ _Another_ time?” 

The stranger chuckled, hopping onto the rails of your balcony with a grace that rivalled Figaro’s. “I’m a curious man. I will always be driven by the never-ending pursuit of discovering new magic for as long as I live.” He then tilted his head up to the star-filled sky, breathing in the evening breeze. Despite the very real possibility of him plummeting to the ground, you couldn’t help but think how handsome he looked under the rake of moonlight. 

“What’s your name?” you murmured, wholly transfixed on his elegant form. 

When his gaze overlapped with yours once again, he replied, “You may call me Julius.” 

With that, his fur-trimmed cape danced in the wind, and for a second, you thought he looked like absolute royalty. No peasant would harbor such a presence like his. But then again, no _noble_ would go around loitering on people’s balconies unprompted, either. 

Julius raised one hand as if to bid you farewell. “Until we meet again, my Lunar Florist.” 

The way he addressed you made your heart flutter in your chest. That…actually sounded pretty cool, but you couldn’t really dwell on his flattery with what he was about to do next. He took his leave by jumping off the rails, giving you a momentary heart attack as you hastily ran to the edge. But when you peered at him down below, you couldn’t find a head of golden hair amongst the thinning crowd. 

Just like your wound, he made it seem as if he’d never been here in the first place. 

Intent on finally getting a decent meal, Figaro snapped you out of your reverie with an impatient meow, waiting for you by the door to your room with a frown. You rolled your eyes before returning the moonlace back on its shelf—clapping the soil off your hands.

However, just before you could close the door again, you glanced up at the sky with a wobbly smile. There, the moon stared back in a sea of twinkling stars; almost like it was beaming at you. 

Figaro let out _another_ vexed-sounding mewl—prompting you to just get back inside altogether before he claws the feathers from your pillows. Ugh. Why’d you even take in such a demanding pet?

“Alright! Alright! I’m coming.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how many chapters this is going to be, but I'm not planning on making it super long. Maybe 5 at most???? ahdshjdfcf it's probably just going to be a few snippets of what the reader and Julius are up to every time he slinks away from his responsibilities (+ what happens after Patolli does _the thing_ ). And I'm not a dilf hunter what are you talking about?
> 
> You may also find me on [tumblr](http://hirugamis.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

“The black market?”

Your landlady, Amelia nodded as she lifted the rim of her teacup to her lips. “Somewhere hidden between the alleys of the marketplace is Kikka’s black market. There, absolutely anything goes.”

Face twisted with an uneasy look, you watched your reflection on the golden brown surface of your tea. Amelia had been kind enough to check in on you after hearing about yesterday’s incident—saying that the man responsible for the wreckage was actually an outlaw running loose around the Common Realm. You’d just been one of the unlucky individuals he’d decided to mess around with that day, and she hoped you wouldn’t judge the other mages too harshly for the way they acted (or rather, _didn’t_ act). Apparently he’d already been taken care of by the Magic Knights, but when the reluctance on your face had persisted, she proposed another solution. 

“My son tames beasts for a living and he sells them there for the right price,” she tells you, setting her cup and saucer down on the table before her voice dipped into a whisper. “You can find _anything_ that usually gets confiscated in kingdom-monitored markets in the black market. I bet you and your exotic flora will fit right in.” 

You sighed, fingers tightening around your cup. The fire from yesterday still burned in the back of your eyes, and you couldn’t quell the helplessness you felt as you watched that flame user do as he pleased. Your plants were not human, but you loved them all the same—so seeing them get razed into ashes was your equivalent of a mother witnessing the death of her child. Your pea vines, your hawkweeds, hell, not even your _succulents_ were spared… 

Amelia’s shoulders sagged with pity as she reached out to clasp her hands over yours. With misty eyes, you stared at her face, still brimming with life despite her age. A reassuring smile was wrung across her lips and for a moment, you were filled with crippling relief. Your own mother had never looked at you this lovingly.

“Take some time to think it over, little mouse,” she rubbed your skin with an unfamiliar tenderness. “You still have that job at the pub, right? You should be able to make ends meet while you figure out what to do with your business.” 

You nodded somewhat forlornly. In the midst of your despair, you’d told your boss that you couldn’t work your usual shift last night for personal reasons. He didn’t seem too keen about granting you an impromptu leave, although he _did_ relent before you could break down right in front of him. “I guess…”

She clapped her hands together. “That settles it, then! Just let me know when you want to get started, and I’ll tell my son to show you the ropes. Does that sound good to you?”

“Yes. I can’t thank you enough, Amelia.” You flashed her a soft smile before finishing the rest of your tea. “You really don’t have to bother so much for a foreigner, you know… Ow!”

Rubbing the spot where she’d flicked your forehead, you gaped at Amelia, whose wide grin had morphed into a frown. 

“As long as you’re my tenant, I won’t care if you’re a noble or a peasant; a native or foreigner. Just pay rent on time, and we’ll have no problems at all.” The words were probably meant to sound assertive, but your landlady had imparted them with the sweetest voice. Nonetheless, you responded with a stiff nod. 

After helping you clear out the table, Amelia retrieved her hat from the coatrack by the door. “I’ll take my leave, then. Oh, by the way…”

You perked up, brow arched with curiosity. 

“The lady occupying the next house over told me something interesting,” she sneered, a mischievous look shadowing her face. You gulped. For someone so old, she certainly had the spunk of a teenager. 

“W-What is it?” 

Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. “You had a man over last night, didn’t you?”

Memories of violet eyes and golden hair hovered in your mind in the next moment. You weren’t sure if the surprise had shown on your face, but if anything would have given you away, it would be Figaro’s timely entrance—meowing as if in agreement to what Amelia just asked. Your landlady stifled a laugh, crouching on the floor as she scratched under the cat’s ear. 

“I know it’s none of my business, but I’m happy that you’re…getting to know some of the locals, as well.” She winked, getting up before opening the door. “You’ll tell me if the romance lasts, right?”

Heat bloomed across your face as you forcibly kept yourself from recalling the feel of his calloused palms over yours. The gentle lull of his magic. The moonlight painting his hair silver—

“I-I don’t even know him,” you stammered. 

Amelia’s face fell. “A robber, then?” 

“No! It’s—it’s not like that…” 

But instead of taunting you about it like you expected she would, your landlady simply nodded, like she understood. Adjusting the lovely hat over her head, Amelia spared you a curt bow. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, little mouse. Just like how you did with everything else.”

Despite being so difficult to figure out, she had these bouts of discernment every now and again. Those words had been simple—usually nothing you would dwell on too much. But Amelia had witnessed the way you’d struggled to find a place for yourself in a land that wasn’t even your own. She showed you kindness you only dreamt of as a child, and knowing that she’d still continue to be there further solidified your complacence. 

This time, the smile you put on didn’t feel weighted with grief. 

“I will.”

...

About an hour since Amelia’s departure, you heard three hard knocks on your door.

Figaro hissed from where he was perched on the armrest of your loveseat, mismatched eyes glaring at the entrance to your home. That in itself was already a warning not to get close. Crap. Could it be the flame user from yesterday? No, Amelia said he was already behind bars… What if he escaped and was about to take his revenge, though? It wasn’t like you’d reported him to the authorities, yourself, but—

You let out a frightened squeak once the knocks came again, with more impatience this time. Whoever was standing outside didn’t seem like he had all day. Gulping, you tried to scrutinize their energy through the flow of their mana, but all you could make sense of was an endless darkness condensed in the form of a single man. 

He wasn’t the same lunatic who had burned your merchandise. This one was _far_ more terrifying.

“Magic Knights, please open up,” drawled a lazy voice from the other side. “I’m here to file an incident report about…whatever the hell happened yesterday.”

The apprehension in your posture ebbed slightly. You’d heard about the organization that upheld the peace in Clover Kingdom. Though you hadn’t seen one before, you were sure those so-called Magic Knights existed to protect people, not harm them like you currently feared. You glanced at Figaro again, whose body language practically screamed, “Don’t open the door,” but that wouldn’t do. 

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean any harm,” you reassured, smoothing down the fur on his back before setting down the book you’d been reading. “If I’m wrong, I’ll let you claw his face off, though.”

You padded over to the door with sweaty palms, pursing your lips as you twisted the knob. The afternoon light spilled into your home, and you put on the most clueless look you could pull off. In front of you, stood a burly man who seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here. From the robe that hung half torn across his shoulders, you figured that was part of his uniform as a Magic Knight. Although he didn’t seem to look any different from the ruffians you’d serve in the pub…

“Yami Sukehiro, captain of the Black Bulls,” he introduced, a cigarette hanging low on his lips. “I usually send my subordinates for boring-ass jobs like this, but they’re all out on their own missions.” 

“Um…” You didn’t really know how to respond to that little rant, so instead you told him your name, and that you’d be willing to answer whatever questions he had. 

The moment he stepped into your home, Figaro skittered to the staircase with another violent hiss before disappearing upstairs. You sighed. “Sorry about that. He isn’t usually so stingy around others…” And that wasn’t exactly a lie, given the way he practically rubbed himself all over Julius last night. 

Yami shrugged. “Domestic animals have hated me for as long as I can remember, so I don’t really care.” He looked around for a moment before pointing at your dining table. “Can we talk over there?” 

The interview wasn’t as bad as you expected. He only asked what was necessary, and didn’t deviate from the scope of the investigation. Despite the way he looked, Yami seemed like someone who wanted to get things over with as quickly as he could—saving you the trouble of having to uphold some idle small talk. Once the formalities had been taken care of, he was almost too ready to skip town. 

“Thanks for your cooperation,” he told you with the most insincere monotone you’d ever heard as he held out his hand. “Glad I didn’t have to deal with some pain-in-the-ass noble.”

You nodded, shaking it in return before your eyes drifted to the sword strapped to his waist. It was an odd-looking weapon that didn’t look like the ones you’d seen so far. But you decided not to think of it too much when you realized Yami was staring at your joined hands with a grimace. 

“Anything wrong?” you asked. 

He shook his head, letting go of your hand before mussing his dark hair. “I thought I picked up a trace of familiar mana on you. Must’ve imagined it, though.”

That only served to puzzle you as well, but you didn’t want to be keeping a busy man from his duties. “Safe travels, Yami.”

Finally having been left in solitude, you plopped yourself back on top of the sofa. You’d planned on spending your days selling plants in the marketplace, but that wouldn’t really work right now. What did you do with all your free time again? 

“That’s right,” you whispered, snapping your fingers at the realization. “I just napped the day away!” 

Humming a listless tune to yourself, you joined Figaro upstairs, who was already dozing on the extra pillow you’d left for him at the foot of your bed. You smiled inwardly, making a note to reward him for his good behavior. 

Staring at the sun from the window that peered into the balcony, you burrowed further underneath your blankets. You barely got any sleep last night, for obvious reasons. In spite of that, a pair of amethysts for eyes flashed in your mind the moment you toed the line between slumber and consciousness.

But you weren’t going to complain, either way. 

…

Roughly a month had passed since the incident at the marketplace and Julius’ odd visit, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t dismayed with the fact that he probably won’t keep his word. He seemed like one of those eccentrics that never visited the same town twice, and you were the little fool that hoped you’d found a friend in him. Disappointments, however, had never been a stranger to you, so you continued on with life as usual like you’d never even met him in the first place.

“Oi, can I get a refill for some ale?”

“Aye, lady! Half an order of lamb chops.”

“Sister, can I get a—”

You crouched to the floor with a scowl, hands braced on the young boy’s shoulders. “What is a kid like you doing in a place like this?!”

He cocked his head to the side, baffled by your reaction. “Eh? Isn’t this where people come to eat?”

“W-Well, you’re not wrong, but…” Eyes drifting to the drunken couple practically sucking each other’s faces off in the corner, you shook your head. “There are other places where you can get food. How much did your mother give you?”

The boy looked at you, nonplussed. “How…much?”

Oh, no. He was an orphan, wasn’t he? If the tattered clothes and grimy face weren’t already anything to go by, then his cluelessness about money hit the spot. God, your boss is going to be _furious_ if he found out a rugrat snuck into his pub. 

“You better send him away.”

Whirling around, you caught sight of one of your co-workers eyeing you and the boy with a frown. “Remember the last time Mister Rosenbloom caught you feeding an orphan? You don’t want to lose this job, do you?”

“Of course I don’t.” You dragged a palm over your face as you rose back to your feet. Just before you could put together the resolve to see him out of the building, the boy flashed you a look similar to the one Figaro would show you whenever he wanted to eat outside feeding time. You groaned. How could you say no to a face like that?

Glancing at the clock on the far end of the room, you sighed before turning back to the kid. “Look, my shift is almost over. I can fix you up for a quick dinner if you just stay put outside. Is that okay?” 

The boy nodded gleefully. “Thank you, sister!”

Your co-worker chuckled as he made his way out, shaking her head. “For a foreigner, you get along pretty well with the locals here.”

“What can I say?” you began, gathering some dirty beer mugs in your arms. “Us misfits can’t really afford to be unlikeable, you know.”

She smiled, turning on her heel to walk back to the kitchen. “Whatever you say, newbie.”

“I’ve been here for four months,” you mumbled sulkily. 

…

You weren’t sure whether or not taking some random kid back home to make him dinner was a good idea. But then again, coming along with a complete stranger—a _foreigner_ , no less—wasn’t the smartest of choices he could make, either. It wasn’t like he knew any better, being as young as he was. You just had to thank the gods that it was _you_ he ran into and not a lawless human trafficker or something. 

He held your hand the whole walk back, telling you about all his favorite food with a choppy manner of speaking. Despite not understanding some of the things he said, you went with his animated narrative—nodding along every time he asked you a question. 

Most people your age weren’t very fond of children. They were loud, obnoxious, and an overall pain to take care of, but it was a parent’s duty to hammer some values into their kids so that they’d grow up to be respectable people. The influx of orphans around Kikka told you that not a lot of parents were up for that task, but then again who were you to say? This brat right here could have had a father that died for the sake of his family, or a mother who died giving birth to him. You would never know the stories of each orphan in town, but you’d help them out however you could, regardless.

“Oh, what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ around these parts?” 

You rolled your eyes. This was why you hated walking to and from work. You had to cross a district where creeps like the man approaching you and the boy were known to wander. Here, they lied in wait for any unsuspecting women to blackmail them into doing them disgusting favors.

Your grip tightened on the boy’s hand. “Not concerning myself with you, that’s for sure.”

“A pretty _and_ feisty lady, aren’tcha?” he chuckled darkly as he slammed a hand on the wall right next to you—killing your chances at a swift escape. The man stared at you with bulging eyes, unnerving you even further. “Say…aren’t you the foreigner everyone’s been talkin’ about lately? You’re even prettier up—”

_Smack!_

You grit your teeth, palm stinging from where your hand had collided with his bony face. “Don’t you _dare_ touch me,” you hissed.

The man’s jaw hung loose before he let out a cruel-sounding laugh. The hand not trapping you in place roughly grabbed your chin as he forced you to look into his eyes. His skin glowed with a sickly green light, making you cry out in pain as he imbued his fingers with an acrid-smelling liquid.

“My Poison Magic can ruin that face of yours in an instant,” he told you, sneering at the way tears began to leak from your eyes. “Bitches like you get called pretty a couple times and suddenly you don’t know your place.” 

“Run,” you whispered, ignoring the man’s threats as you loosened your grip on the boy’s hand. The poison was starting to seep into your skin, singeing your flesh in a way you knew was irreparable. “Please…” 

The man flung you onto the cobblestones, and you fought the urge to touch your face. His poisonous fluids were still eating away at your skin, and you knew better than to get the vile substance on your fingers, too. The pain was indescribable—making you writhe in silent agony as you tried your best to put as much distance between you as you could. But before you could even get any farther, you slumped to the ground. The pavement was cold against your cheek; a stark contrast to the burning sensation that set your nerves aflame. Despite the perpetrator still hanging back a few feet away, all you could think of in your haze was: _did the kid escape?_

“Your magic is most certainly interesting, but… Could you not waste your skills on such deplorable acts?”

Air whistled down your throat almost painfully when you took a sharp breath. Through your waning vision, you could see the small figure of the orphan you picked up standing in front of the man. _Run, you idiot!_ you desperately wanted to scream, but you couldn’t find your voice—the poison seemingly sapping your strength alongside the damage it was doing to your face.

“Hah? Get lost, kid,” he barked, and your surroundings were suddenly engulfed with the same green light from earlier. “Or do you want to end up like this bitch here?”

The boy sighed. “Calling women atrocious names isn’t very nice, you know. My, how can I build a kingdom free of discrimination when its citizens are twisted down to the roots?”

You could hear the hasty footfalls of the man as he approached the orphan. “The fuck are you yappin’ about?!”

Your lip quivered as you sobbed into the cobblestones. An innocent child was going to get killed because of you—because of your inability to protect anything. You couldn’t protect your plants yesterday, couldn’t protect _yourself_ on both occasions you were attacked. And now...

“Chronostasis.” 

A strong burst of mana gushed somewhere in front of you as a blinding white light illuminated the streets. When you looked up again, the man had been enclosed in a blue sphere, floating suspended in the air in front of—

“Julius?” you managed weakly, glancing up at the blurry figure crouching down before you. Darkness had already engulfed a chunk of your eyesight, but this mana… 

Rough yet gentle fingers caressed your poisoned skin before the familiar sensation of your body mending itself rippled across your nerves. Your eyes fluttered closed, too exhausted to keep them trained on your savior. But you could practically hear the smile in his words when he said:

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, mc should really stop getting attacked by magic weirdos. But at least she gets saved by another magic weirdo, too I guess ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
